


Shorts

by sockslost



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: (omg that's a taaaag yessss), F/F, Fluff without Plot, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-02 01:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12716646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockslost/pseuds/sockslost
Summary: These are all one-shots under a thousand words a piece. Pretty much all fluff. Rizzles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know how to describe this one.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. No money. ETC. ETC.

 

There is a line between them. It’s made of subtle colors and blurred edges, with worn spots in the middle.

Jane doesn’t know what she wants to do with the line.

She’s torn between wanting to step across it boldly with a smirk and say _screw it_ or to quietly mind its boundaries. Because while some rules are meant to be broken, some are there for a reason and what if this is the one with a reason?

There is doubt in her mind. She – the go-head-first-into-danger, take-no-shit detective – is worried that she can’t handle whatever lay beyond that worn out line. And every time she gets to the edge, every time her toes itch to go forward, an unfamiliar fear paralyzes her.

They’ve crossed other lines, she knows, and they haven’t died yet.

She knows they are more than friends, but not quite _more than friends._

That sentence snags across her mind roughly. It’s arbitrary and stupid because what does that even mean? _More than friends._ She rolls her eyes.

And every time she thinks about crossing the line, she can't help but wonder what makes the difference. Can't help but wonder how many lines can they cross without adverse effects. And why does it even matter? Why is this little, obscure thing in the road seem like such a big deal? Why is she so hyper aware of a tiny little thing that never meant any harm?

They are the type of questions that don't actually  _have_  answers. The kind that just sit in the back of the mind and agitate brain cells and disrupt thoughts.

Like right now, they are in Maura's kitchen. Alone. And Maura is talking a mile a minute about an article she read earlier in the day about something Jane knew nothing about because she was too focused on other things, like intonation over words. Like the way Maura's lips curl upward at the ends of her sentences when she looks over her shoulder to see if Jane's listening, and how her eyes light up the whole room, make everything warmer.

And Jane's mind starts to drift to other things and she wants nothing more than to kiss her hard against the counter.

And she knows, she absolutely knows, that if she did, Maura would kiss her back and just the thought of Maura's lips moving against hers, Maura's fingers in her hair gives her goose bumps, but then reality sets in, because they are alone.

And there's a difference in being alone and being with other people.

A difference in being inside and being outside.

And she wants to say that being a woman and being with a woman has nothing to do with it. But it does. And she wants to say it's not self-sabotage out of fear of being loved. But it is.

Her reactions are typically knee-jerk in nature. She acts before she thinks, says offensive things without meaning to. And more often than not Maura is on the tail end of it all because Maura is always there and that thought smacks her again right in the forehead.

And what if she screws it up?

What if she does or says the wrong thing? Or what if she reacts badly to the good natured teasing she'll surely endure from her brothers and coworkers? Or what if the first time they hold hands in public she drops Maura's hand when someone walks by?

And what if – like the men she's dated – Maura disappears?

Being with Maura would mean having to admit that she needs someone else. She would have to admit that what they say about her is true. That her mother is right and _yes_ , she likes having someone to come home to.

It means having someone there at the odd hours of the night when sleep is elusive and she's vacuuming the floor. Or having someone next to her in bed while she's tossing and turning and sweaty and all long limbs and twisted tank and shaky breaths.

It means _commitment_ , and everything about that word freaks her out.

"Jane? You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you?"

Jane blinks out of the sudden tunnel she's in and she's staring straight into those eyes that can't make a decision on what color they should be. Maura's gone through the whole dishwasher and is drying her hands leaning against the counter with a knowing smile on her face.

They have been here before.

Jane doesn't know which feeling is stronger: the fear or the want.

She feels like she's at the threshold of something she can't name and she's too afraid to move forward and too drawn to go back. And usually she goes in because that's what she does and who she is but her feet are glued to the floor. She has not spent hours training for this.

But she looks at Maura who is looking at her.

She thinks maybe needing someone isn't so bad, maybe she already needs Maura and this little extra is like whipped cream and a cherry on top of an already delicious sundae.

She thinks her arms would fit perfectly around Maura's waist, and when her head gets too heavy it would find a perfect resting place in the crook of Maura's neck.

Maybe she should just let herself be happy for once without the thought of consequence and catastrophe.

She blinks, and Maura is standing in front of her and there are words between them. They are silent, unspoken things full of promises they can't possibly keep but there is no harm in trying.

In the space of a breath Maura is kissing her hard against the counter. And her breath hitches as her hands go to Maura's hair (and this is better than what she imagined.)

And there is something in the way Maura's hands grasp her shirt in handfuls which tells Jane that maybe Maura's been stuck at that threshold too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane has a moment on the couch while Maura goes in the kitchen. 
> 
> (This is a few years old and some references probably don't make sense anymore, but I really liked this one. I hope y'all do too!)

The moment Jane realizes she can't live without Maura they are not doing anything special or worthy of deep thinking. (But really Jane has known for a while now that she can’t live without Maura, but being in love and having that love returned has put a new spin on _everything_.)

They are just sitting on the couch watching one of those reality shows that always seems to be on the History Channel and stealing kisses during commercials. (Jane has a game going in her head to see how long they can make it before breaking the kiss, so far they've gotten up to two and a half commercials.)

There is nothing spectacular about their night. They are either too tired or too old to care about going out and even staying at the Robber lately after work has been a chore. (Though, Jane does find the things Maura is doing with her mouth spectacular, and it's spectacular the way those fingers are tracing funny patterns against her thigh.)

It hits her, this moment, right at the next commercial break.

It's when she's expecting a lingering kiss and a wandering hand, and doesn't get it.

It's the sudden jerk forward, the way she nearly falls into unexpected vacant space as soon as  _don't you want me baby_ starts playing on the TV.

Maura zigs. And she zags. And Jane knows this will not be the last time, because it's certainly not the first.

But the zigging and zagging is old. And she's grown tired of near misses, and almost’s. Because they are  _still_ making up for lost time.

This near fall on the sofa has her sympathizing with a duster. And she is alone on the couch, faltering.

Things, images, memories, dramatized by her own mind pop like bubbles above her head.

And it hits her at the bridge between commercials, it hits her when the noise in the kitchen stops, when the space next to her that still smells like her…Maura (labels are hard) remains empty.

For a moment she can't breathe.

It's not like she hasn't thought about it before – life without Maura. But this is all flashes of guns pointed at that beautiful temple, it's scalpels on throats, and  _whatever you want, I can get it._ It's  _holy shit, how many times have they almost lost each other?_

It's like a case where the pieces are starting to form and coalesce and things are starting to make sense to make the Big Picture.

And she never realized how _big_ that picture was.

There is nothing subtle about the way it hits her. Maura is her weakest link and strongest point, her Kryptonite and the thing that makes her Superman.

But before she can think any further, she feels cool hands on either side of her face and warm lips press against hers slowly as they both melt into the other. Jane can just hear something about toilet paper on the TV before it's all white noise, and _Maura, Maura, Maura_.

A hand drifts to her neck stroking lightly against her skin. Jane wonders if Maura can feel how fast her heart is beating. Maura makes a cute noise when Jane's own hand sneaks under her top and spreads across the soft skin of her lower back.

After a moment there is space between them. They are both breathing heavily, and flushed, and happy. Maura looks at her with smoldering golden-green eyes and Jane feels hot all over.

"I love you." It slips. Jane has said it before, but it's rare. Only, when Maura kisses her again, deeply and moves into her lap, forget the TV, she makes a mental note to say it more often.

Maura grins as she pulls away. "I know." The next kiss is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it type. "I love you."

Jane grins, dimples and all. "I know."


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a moment that happens when your best friend tells you she has a crush on you.

Even if she follows with examples of how _small_ , how _insignificant_ that crush is. Even if she gives you examples as to why it’s silly, and why it wouldn’t work. Even if it’s after a few too many glasses of wine (because you know she never goes too far and if she’s any kind of inebriated it’s only just barely _tipsy_.)

There’s a moment where your mind and your heart and _everything_ inside of you is screaming all at once. Different things in different octaves – your insides are like a domestic disturbance call at a family reunion where too many beers and not enough hours have passed.

But the one thing – the two most overbearing words you seem to hear most clearly are _oh shit._

_Oh shit._

_Oh shit._

_Oh shit._

Like a mantra. Like you are chasing a bad guy and you forgot to look at street signs and you hear your back up going in the opposite direction because no one knows where you are.

_Oh shit._

Your face is doing weird things you’re sure, but you can’t help it because she and you and _oh shit._

She gets up from the couch.

You’re at her house. (You’re always at her house.) You were talking about Casey, about high school love, and each of your seemingly random crushes growing up. The two of you were swapping stories like two drunks at a bar (but neither of you are drunk) and then she goes all in. _I’d have to say my strangest crush, however, has been you._ And the whole world suddenly turns upside down.

She has the nerve to laugh afterwards, but stops promptly at the look on your face. You are so caught off guard, you don’t even take offense to the fact that she referred to you as a “strange crush.”

She gets up from the couch with pursed lips and dodgy eyes to refill her empty wineglass. Meanwhile, you still sit wide eyed, unable to function.

It’s not that you’ve never thought about it before.

It’s because you _have_.

During those late nights where your bed seems colder than usual, your mind has drifted there. But it’s a dangerous area. It’s that little fantasy you never knew you could actually have, and if you let yourself hope and dream about it, you know there is no going back.

Like getting into BCU.

It wasn’t that you wanted to go there exactly, you just wanted to see if you could get in.

And then you did.

And _oh shit._

This feels a lot like that.

She comes back pressing a cold beer into your hand.

The silence is irritating. “Jane.” The couch sinks as she sits. She shakes her head with a soft sigh. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You look at her then. She takes a delicate sip from her glass.

She is your best friend.

But there is no denying the way you feel.

Only, that’s exactly what you want to do. It’s what you always want to do. It’s why you liked being with Casey. It was easy to get lost in something so surface level. But with Maura there are things to consider – big scary things, with terrifying consequences. Because you always knew on some level Casey wasn’t forever, but Maura has the potential to be and that _terrifies_ you.

She stares into her wine glass before sighing again.

You don’t know what to do.

She looks up and your eyes lock.

Your heart feels like it is going to beat straight through your ribs. Your breath hitches. Jet fuel is running through your veins and you are about to transfer all of that potential into kinetic if she just gives you two more seconds to prepare for liftoff.

“Jane.”

And there it is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion for the previous chapter!

"I – I – I –" Only your plane sputters on the runway as your voice skips like a broken record stuck on the same line. You feel the words inside of you. You are thinking too hard and too much. And nothing is coming out.

She looks at you strangely – a mix of hope and question in her eyes before a wave of realization comes crashing into her pier. You almost smile before you realize she's come to the wrong conclusion. Her shoulders square up like she is on your plane bracing for the impact of your failed piloting endeavor.

She stands again from the couch.

And you wish you had a fasten seatbelt sign.

_Wait!_ You want to shout.  _Don't go._ But the words still don't come. Your heart is beating too fast and your throat feels like it is going to close and if you try hard enough you can almost see spots. It's like you're having an allergic reaction to your feelings.

She is in the kitchen by the time you gather enough of your shit together to stand.

"Jane really it's not…a…big – it's not a big deal." And you don't know if she's getting hives or going to faint but the glass in her shaky hand looks like it's about to meet its untimely demise if she doesn't put it down. (She does.)

"Maura…"

"It's just a crush. A small – "

You know it's not just a crush. That it's not silly or insignificant. The way her voice cracks, the way she falls over her words tells you everything. And if it's a fraction of what you feel (right now, last night, two weeks ago, at lunch, whenever or all the time) throwing a _just_ in front of it is nothing but insulting. "Don't lie to me." Your voice is more air than sound but she hears you.

She always hears you.

The papers have called you a hero more than once. You're sure your mother has the clippings taped in a binder somewhere.

If only they could see you now.

You are at a stalemate.

In those moments you’ve thought about this the only thing that has ever played in your head is _Not Maura._ Everything you do throughout the day just…without her. And it always makes your heart heavy, because that’s exactly what you’ve always thought would happen. Only now, now you have a different scenario playing in front of you. One where by some miracle she likes you back. And when does that ever happen? But here she is. And here she does. And you think that's why your brain is having such a hard time with all of this.

What do you do when everything you ever wanted is standing in front of you?

Your heart is screaming  _go for it_  but your brain is screaming  _hold on_.

She turns around, and she looks like she's about to cry. (You hate it when she cries.)

Something inside of you snaps so utterly, so completely that your first step is more of a flinch and a stumble as your body tells the rest of you to  _shove it_.

There is delightful confusion in her eyes. "Jane."

There are a million somethings in the way she says your name. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyelids flutter.

_Not Maura_ is replaced by _Maura_. Something real and tangible. You can see it clear as day. A yellow sundress and a checkered picnic blanket. A coy smile over coffee. A sleepy grin in the dead of night. The possibilities are endless, the hope you have growing inside your chest is going to shine through your every pore if you don't do something.

"I have a crush on you too." You whisper leaning forward. (You make sure not to miss her wide smile before sealing the deal with a soft kiss.)

And you might actually pass out when her hands pull you closer, when she starts kissing you back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why Jane is making pancakes at 3am sometimes you just get a craving, you know?

They - Jane and Maura - are standing in Maura's kitchen.

Jane is covered in flour.

Maura is wielding the heel of a Louboutin as if it were a chainsaw.

Jane's eyebrow - dusted in white powder - raises. She is half amused, half still recovering from the shock of being walked in on and the shriek of a yell that Maura emitted not thirty seconds ago.

Maura's chest is heaving. She tries to catch her breath, but the adrenaline is still playing in her system, and " _What_?" is the only thing that comes out of her mouth.

"I-" Jane stumbles over her words in the same way she stumbled over Bass and sent the skillet flying with a crash into the sink. She looks at the offending beast, and really, she thinks, who needs a guard dog when you have one of _those_ things lying around in wait? "I was - I…" The detective is stuck, and her eyes are no longer pointed on the floor nor blinded by the light that Maura hastily flipped on. She looks into soft – still semi-alarmed – hazel eyes, and her heart nosedives straight into a cliff.

Maura is a puzzle that is in pieces. Her hair is wild - it sticks up at odd angles and flips out in strange places. For a second, Jane almost wonders if she has a visitor upstairs, before she remembers their conversation a week ago. Her eyes finally leave Maura's face, it's then she realizes that she is wearing one of her shorter nightgowns - the blue one. And her brain stalls on legs and freckles and curves.

"Jane!"

Something hits her.

She catches the shoe before it falls onto the floor...and into the busted bag of pancake mix. She blinks looking back up. The doctor's arms are crossed; she may as well be tapping her foot as she waits for an explanation. "Pancakes?" Is all Jane can offer.

She doesn't know what else to say or how to say it. She worries her bottom lip. This is a moment, and she can see it walking by but can't seem to catch it.

How is she supposed to say that she can't stop thinking about the way Maura's lips felt on hers, the way their fingers felt intertwined together, how she can't sleep because it's all she can think about. A week ago promises were made and conversations were had and words like  _take it slow_ were thrown around, but she just can't seem to find the brakes because all she wants to do is go at this thing full throttle.

She gives the woman in front of her half of a shrug instead of words knowing that it won't suffice, but hoping it will.

Maura takes a step forward. Her fingers itch to brush away the small dusting of powder that rests on the tip of Jane's nose. She swallows hard as she realizes she doesn't have to resist anymore.

The touch is feather light. Jane's eyelids flutter, and her heart does that cartoony  _bud-ump_ in her chest and she wonders if Maura can feel it even with a foot of space between them.

Maura's hand drops to Jane's waist. Part of her wants to take this moment and stick it under a microscope to analyze it piece by piece because she still doesn't understand why Jane is in her kitchen at three in the morning making pancakes, and she thinks the missing piece is right in front of her, just hidden. The other part of her doesn't care because Jane is her best friend and it doesn't matter. There is something in that sentence that feels like relief.

Her fingers press against the strip of bare skin between tank top and sweats.  _She doesn't have to resist anymore_. It plays like a song between her ears. The melody sinks between breaths, between fabric and skin.

Maura feels caught between moments. Her heart beats like a bass line in a club - loud and reverberating. She feels it in her fingertips. Like every ounce of blood rushing through her veins is moving all in the same rhythm, swaying along with the beat.

But there is no music.

It's just them. In the kitchen.

It's quiet.

Slender fingers brush against her cheek. Maura sighs, Jane leans forward, and they both forget about words and pancakes as a designer shoe falls to the floor, the sound muffled by the busted sack of pancake mix.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the gang having some snow fun.

It's laughter that brings her to the door.

The sound outside her home catches her off guard, she doesn't know what it is at first.

Probably, she thinks, just neighborhood kids celebrating the newfound freedom of winter break. But it's curious, and that curiosity is making her turn the cold doorknob.

She gasps.

In the hours she's been inside snow has blanketed everything in white. Big, heavy flakes continue to fall to the ground, just building to it. But that's not what leaves her breathless.

In the middle of it all, stands three adults acting like overgrown children.

The laughter that brought her to the door grows louder as Tommy and Frankie tackle each other into the snow while Jane pelts them with snow balls. A blue shovel lays forgotten near Jane's car.

The sound is big and loud and full. Something she hasn't heard in a while, and it pulls at something inside her chest - something she didn't think existed. It's almost painful.

Jane does not shrink as she laughs. Jane does not shrink, period, but Maura has seen her shoulders caving and caving a little more with every case, and her unrelenting need to not cut corners or take breaks, but here she expands. Her body stretches - open and free. She is all wonder and amusement and Maura can't seem to catch her breath.

Frankie kicks his sister's leg out from under her and Jane topples onto both of them.

Before she can think, Maura pulls on her boots and slips her arms into her coat. She's wrapping her scarf around her, as she pulls the door shut.

"Hey, Maura," Tommy is the first to notice her, he gestures to his siblings, "we were gonna shov-" Maura's hastily crafted snowball hits him square in the chest.

He blinks.

And Jane's laughing again.

And Frankie yells some type of battlecry.

And it's everyone for themselves.

The cold seeps into her gloves as she scoops and molds another bundle of snow, but she is too slow.

Snowballs rain around her as she shrieks with laughter trying to dodge them but failing. They land at her feet, against her pants and coat in clumps and thuds.

She trips, landing in a sprawl of limbs and layers and laughter.

Jo Friday fumbles in the snow, trying to run but it sticks to her fur in clumps. Her tongue hangs out of her wide open mouth. She growls and barks at the white stuff falling around them, at ankles and shoelaces. She runs towards Maura sniffling excitedly at her hair and face like  _can you believe this?_

"Maura!" Jane shouts. She's kneeling behind a wall of snow, ducking under cover between throws. Bright brown eyes beckon for her to come into her shelter. Jane covers her as she crawls, Jo Friday providing a distraction for the boys. The beanie slips and covers her eyes just as she gets to safety. The grin that greets her when Jane sets it right makes her lose her breath all over again. The detective's nose is bright red, her cheeks flushed. "You make 'em, I'll throw 'em!"

Only Jane throws faster than she can make them, and while Jane is helping her make more snowballs Frankie and Tommy sneak up on them.

Their fort comes crashing down around them and shovels of snow add insult to injury. Cries of victory fade into laughter that grows and grows.

Jane's breath is hot against her cheek, and Maura swears she feels the woman nuzzle into the base of her neck with a loving sigh.

Frankie and Tommy chest bump somewhere around them but she turns and the only thing she sees are those dark brown eyes, and that grin.

She looks up at the sky in a silent thank you.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane picks Maura up for their first date.

Maura is nervous. And that word isn't even enough to describe the twitch in her body, not enough for the darting of her eyes. She's pacing and she's spinning the ring around her finger like her life depends on it, like in just one more twist she won't be so painstakingly anxious.

Jane is picking her up on a date. It feels like so many things hinge on how this night plays out. Will they be just better off as friends? Are her feelings too strong? Are Jane’s? What even are the feelings involved?

She sighs as her doorbell rings, rubs her eyes, and takes what's meant to be a very determined step forward with her shoulders square but ends up being a heart-in-her-throat leap of faith on unsteady legs. She opens the door.

And she loses her breath immediately.

"You're wearing a dress." She has to say it to believe it, and Jane raises an eyebrow at her ridiculousness. Maura can't say she blames her, but Jane is wearing a dress and the whole world should know. She looks like a supermodel.

She has seen this woman in sweats and shorts and hospital gowns. She has seen this woman after dates with men she didn't care for, after arrests when she's wearing dirty, wrinkled clothing and a smirk. She has seen this woman undress in gym locker rooms, lounging on her couch in tank tops, doing yoga in sports bras, in the glow of florescent light and moonlit crime scenes. She has seen her eyes piercing in anger, in care, in kindness, in love.

She has _seen_ this woman.

But in this moment, it's seeing her all over again. And it's not just the dress or the heels or the product in her hair or the makeup on her face. It's just Jane. It's all of these parts that connect the whole, like paint by number and connect the dots. She is like a child's coloring book come to life in odd colors that blur outside of the lines, beautiful in ways that are completely unexpected.

And  _wow._

Jane shifts uncomfortably in her heels. She knew this was stupid. The sales lady (and her mother) fawned over her in this dress at the store. They  _oohed_ and  _awed_ and she caved. But now her best friend is just staring at her. Her  _date_  is just gaping at her, blinking, and she feels a little stupid. "You know, I uh I have a suit in the car, I can change."

Hazel eyes snap to hers. "What?"

Jane looks down at the deep maroon dress, the black heels (which have a very thin heel and are incredibly difficult to walk in and she has knocked on wood, crossed herself, and rubbed her lucky rabbit's foot she keeps hidden in her nightstand drawer all in hopes of staying on her feet throughout the night.) She runs a hand down her stomach trying to settle the butterflies. It doesn't work. "If this is too much or something…" She trails off.

To her left, she sees the Red Sox baseball cap she left there a few days ago, hanging on the coat rack. Like it belongs there. And she wonders, not for the first time, if it really does. Does her lucky cap have a place next to a fancy blazer made by a designer she can't even pronounce?

She sees Bass in the background, puttering around in the kitchen. She looks passed him and sees the refrigerator. Maura has a magnetized notepad for groceries, and sometimes when Jane is off and Maura isn't she comes over and steals it to grab all of the things Maura has written down from the store, even the nasty crackers that taste like cardboard and air. They've never talked about it, but it never ceases to amaze her that dog food and beer and Lucky Charms somehow make the list.

And she knows if she were to open that cool metal door she would see her favorite beer next to organic vegetables and everything-free Greek yogurt. Like it belongs there.

And maybe it does.

Maura blinks as words burst in her mind, words that could fill a music hall with their echoes. "You are gorgeous and the dress is perfect, Jane." Is what she settles on, though she wants to say more.

There is something in the way her name rolls off of Maura's tongue. Something in the way her lips twitch and her eyes sparkle. Maura knows all of her secrets. She does not have to hide or pretend to be something she's not.

That knowledge is difficult.

And she looks at Maura, really looks at her. And she wants to close the door behind her and never leave. She wants to bury her face in Maura's neck and inhale. Maura is gorgeous and beautiful and breathtaking and thought taking and she wants to kiss her best friend.

"Maura." She has spent so many nights alone in her apartment, alone in her bed, alone in her kitchen, just…alone debating this thought and  _those_ feelings she is too tired to fight them any longer, which is why she bought two tickets for the ballet thing Maura had been going on about wanting to see all week and asked her out on this date.

And the way Jane says her name makes her insides squirm in ways they hadn't in years. She knows she is safe here. It is okay that she is falling, that she already fell. That it is endless, this falling.

She wants to kiss Jane. She wants to kiss her best friend and she smiles, because Jane is already leaning forward and it really doesn't matter that the kiss is supposed to come at the end of the night, because when have they ever played by the rules?

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 3x02. Angst. (way more than the rest of the ones in this series)
> 
> I was going through some files on my computer and found this one. It was one I could never "finish" because every time I came back to it, it just felt complete as is.

You don’t know how you get to the hospital.

All you know is the head in your lap and damp blond curls that splay across your thigh and clammy, pale skin. Are half-lidded eyes and dry lips spouting whispered nonsense of jumbled syllables and half-words that disappear between her slow blink and her next breath.

You’ve had this dream before – of the two of you sweaty, uttering unintelligible words accentuated with pounding heartbeats in the backseat of an old cruiser.

Only this is not that.

This is the other kind of dream. The kind that wakes you up in a cold sweat gasping for air at three am with _don’t you touch her_ on the tip of your tongue.

The car rattles over bumps and potholes as Korsak flies near reckless over the country roads of Western Massachusetts.

You almost don’t hear when he asks you what happened because you are counting heartbeats and you wish you took that stupid first aid class last month even though they wouldn’t ever teach you how to cut into your best friend’s leg with broken glass.

She is talking about that camping trip or an amusement park or _where are we going, Jane. I want to go home._ You don’t know if she’s crying or you’re crying. And this is where you start bargaining, start pleading for God to listen to you _this_ time. You’ll go to church, you’ll participate, you promise. _Just don’t let her die,_ you pray, _don’t die Maura. Please._

You don’t know how you get to the hospital but doors are flying open and things are moving faster than you can process and there’s a light in your eye and Maura’s gone.

…

Your whole life you’ve been told you are too much. You are all hard spots and jagged edges and uneven planes. You’re afraid to look at her with your hard eyes, afraid you’ll just break her more with the intensity you cannot curve.

It’s those words that have you standing in the threshold unmoving.

You are too big to fit in that room.

Your breath comes heavy all of a sudden like your chest is going to cave in on itself. You hang on to the doorframe.

This has nothing to do with Mob boss fathers or FBI Agents, but has everything to do with undercover operations that go horribly wrong. And how many times are you going to do this to her? You can’t even remember the last conversation you’ve had with her that didn’t involve words meant to cut and drag like glass on skin, the only purpose to make her bleed.

And now look.

Her feet don’t even hit the end of the bed.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring. But then you hear her voice. A single syllable. Your name.

“Jane.”

And your eyes snap to tired hazel.

“Come sit down.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maura is sick and Jane is there to offer cuddles on the couch. Another thing I found digging through my files. Thanks for reading! (Also, it's kind of funny because I have a cold too hah)

Jane has spent the most of the last two nights waiting outside of the bedroom she shared with Maura grumpily. Out of the two of them, for some reason it was Maura who caught the virus that was going around the precinct and she had put herself in quarantine so as to not get Jane sick too. But Jane has had about enough of being relegated to the guest room. They have not been a _couple_ for very long , but Jane has already been spoiled with snuggling next to Maura every night. So tonight she hopes Maura will let her back into their room.

When Jane walks into the door she sees Maura sitting on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and clutching a handful of tissues, with the most adorably pathetic look on her face.

Jane smiles, “does this mean you’re out of quarantine and I am welcome back into the bedroom?” She puts her blazer on the coat wrack and steps out of her boots.

Maura nods, “I wanted a change of scenery.” She grabs a fresh tissue from the box on the coffee table and blows her nose. “And I missed you.”

Jane’s insides melt a little at the small smile Maura gives her after that one. She bends down, kissing the top of Maura’s head. “Give me a minute to change, I’ll be right back.” Jane rushes to their bedroom and quickly changes into her pajamas before finally sitting on the couch.

And they’ve been here ever since.

Slender fingers comb slowly though soft tendrils of caramel. Maura shifts her body into the touch, curling herself into Jane’s side and under her arm for warmth and comfort. Two things Jane is always more than willing to give.

The doctor is droopy eyed and leaning. It’s only a matter of time until the bleary eyed woman falls completely into her lap.

Jane knows she should bring them both up stairs. It’s better to sleep on a bed than a couch anyway, but there is something peaceful about the couch and the way they fit that she can’t find it in herself to move.

The detective sighs softly as she looks down at the woman in her arms. The way Maura’s eyelids flutter as she tries to sleep makes her feel all warm and gooey inside. And Jane doesn’t think she’ll ever understand the way Maura can do this to her, dismantle her piece by piece until she is all soft and no hard.

Jo Friday jumps onto the couch. Jane lets out a small laugh at the way the little dog walks in circles before settling near Maura’s feet.

She can feel every broken breath Maura takes and she wishes she could take it away. She doesn’t like seeing Maura hurt. Especially when it’s not something she can fix, or directly fight against. The only tools in her arsenal are Nyquil and hot tea. There is only so much she can do and she hates it.

Jane’s free hand rises from underneath the blankets. She pushes away the hair stuck to Maura’s clammy forehead. Gently her fingers trace over the slope of perfectly curved eyebrow. The move is slow and practiced and she can’t help but think about how much she wants this.

In the beginning, it started with a rushed kiss, a frantic one, an _I’m so glad you’re alive_ kiss that left her more dazed than the explosion did. She didn’t talk to her for a week. She missed her best friend, but they kissed and she couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt, how the ringing in her ears was replaced by the pounding of her heartbeat, the way the smell of dust and debris clung to her clothes and mixed with Maura’s perfect perfume.

And there was doubt and fear and surely she’d find a way to screw it up. But eventually they worked their way back together. They could never stay separated for very long.

But she has Maura now and none of the rest of it seems to matter.

She feels Maura sigh, contently and she leans down pressing a soft kiss to the top of Maura’s head. There is no person she’d rather be with. Knowing that, feeling that – fills her with such happiness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane's POV, 2nd person. Jane reflecting on things. Fluff personified. If the tag 'fluff without plot' were to ever be in the dictionary this would be next to it as an example.

She is in the kitchen laughing and dancing to soft music coming from the sound system. Her smile - knowing and full of promise - begs you to dance with her. You look at her from across the other side of the counter and your heart is a mess. It hits you so suddenly. The weight of this moment collapses on top of you. It takes everything you have to keep your knees from buckling.

You love her.  
You love her.  
You love her.

You had no idea the impact this woman would have on your life when the two of you met in that coffee shop all those years ago.

You knew you were in trouble early on. 

The first crime scene you worked with her.  She was all business. Cold, at times. She did not bend, not even when you knew she could hear the whispers from the other detectives. Not even when she saw perimeter officers ogling her body in all its designer attired glory.

The first instinct you had was to protect. (That’s always your first instinct. It’s why you became a cop.) But you were the new kid. You were young. You proved yourself with the drug unit but this was a whole new ball game. This was  _homicide_ , and you didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes even if they were a bunch of jerks. They were jerks who knew their stuff.

You never joined in on the teasing, but you never stopped it either. That didn’t come until later.

As you built a name for yourself you became more confident. Unafraid to step on toes, and you did ruthlessly. You started talking to each other as people and not just  _Dr. Isles_  and _Detective Rizzoli._  You weren’t  _friends_ per se, just  _friendly_. 

Then the trouble started.

One day after an obscenely early call out, you brought her a coffee. The kind you knew she liked because you’re a detective and you were in line behind her when she ordered it at the cafe once. When you handed her the cup she had one moment of suspicion and then her eyes lit up. Her smile was huge. And you thought _oh_.

It wasn’t like you’ve never had that feeling before.

In high school.  
In college.  
At the academy.

It wasn’t like you were _ashamed_.

You were always just too close to home. Too close to church, to school, to work. Too close to your mother. The risk always felt more than the reward.

And it wasn’t like you  _hated_  men. You didn’t find them  _un_ attractive. You went on the odd date, had an occasional encounter. It was  _okay_ , but never  _great_. Unsatisfying at worst, and adequate at the best of times.

You _tried_.

You’ve just always  _felt_  more with women.

And with her?  _Oh._

You thought you had long since buried those feelings. But you should’ve known more than anyone that buried things always have a way of coming to the surface eventually. You felt more with a shared glance with her than you did while kissing whoever you were dating at the time.

She lit a fire in your bones, and you didn’t know until you were burning up with it. An inferno on the underside of your skin. It’s a fire you don’t ever want extinguished.

In real time, the song has shifted to something a little bit more rock and roll. She throws her head back and sings the chorus - off key and loud. She shakes her blond hair around and swivels her hips.

You love her.  
You love her.  
You love her.

You are so unbelievably glad you decided to finally take the risk.

She turns to look back at you and this time you can’t resist. You move to her and sing the chorus together. You both hop around the kitchen on your toes laughing and dancing and jumping around to the beat. At the end of the song you are both rosy cheeked, and breathless. 

She turns in your arms and you kiss her smile.

You love her.

And by some twist of fate, she loves you too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane has a little revelation in the grocery store. (This one barely made the 1000 word cut off, whew.)

The wheels on the basket squeak as Jane pushes the cart around the grocery store. She follows Maura like a lost puppy. It’s unintentional, but she’s bored out of her mind. (Though she knows she’d be bored out of her mind at home, too. And alone. And sometimes she doesn’t want to be alone. Which is why she’s on this wonderful adventure in the first place.)

Maura leads them on fearlessly into the vegetable section. Jane leans forward, forearms braced on the handle bar, barely suppressing a sigh while Maura inspects the green things. With nothing better to do, Jane can’t help the way her eyes wander and stick on Maura.

(She spends a lot of time watching Maura. A realization she’s only just come to.)

Maura is holding some kind of squash. Strong, steady fingers slide over the smooth surface, pressing and stroking. Jane has no idea what Maura’s searching for, but she must find it because a few seconds later she nods and places it gently in the basket.

Dutifully, Jane follows Maura as she starts walking again. They are, of course, still in the vegetable section. (They’ll be here a while. Shopping with Maura is much different than her solo trips where her basket is full of frozen pizza, instant coffee, and white bread.)  

They are at the peppers, this time. (There are _so many._ ) Once again, Jane finds her eyes drifting toward Maura.

The harsh florescent light shines on top of Maura’s head, somehow making her hair shine a pretty golden color. She furrows her brow adorably as perfect teeth bite down on a plump red lip. And Jane watches, transfixed, as those fingers – sure and strong – fill little bags with different peppers after a careful inspection.

Their eyes catch for a brief moment, “almost done.” Maura promises softly.

There’s something in those words, something in the softness of Maura’s tone, in the golden hues in her eyes, that hits Jane hard.

Jane can almost _feel_ something shift inside her chest. Like an earthquake.

_I’m in love with her._

The thought slams into her with the subtly of a freight train. She grips the handle bar tightly. It’s hard to breathe and the store feels entirely too hot.

She must’ve been staring too intensely, because Maura’s face crinkles with concern. “Are you okay?”

Jane blinks a few times. Is she? Okay? The brightness of the moment has dimmed, but her heart is still racing. What does one do when they realize they’re in love with their best friend next to the bell peppers?

The intercom above them squeaks to life, alerting them of the deals of the week.

It breaks the spell.

But still, Jane feels…changed, somehow. Different.

She gives Maura half a nod.

Maura looks unconvinced, but leads them forward anyway.

Jane’s quiet revelation plays over and over in her mind while Maura fills the basket. Maura’s smiling just a little, sometimes she hums to herself. Overall, she is just carefree and gorgeous and Jane forgets to breathe occasionally. Because _holy shit._

When they get to the cheese section, Jane’s head is spinning and her palms are sweaty.

_Of course,_ she loves Maura, Jane rationalizes with herself. Who _wouldn’t_ love Maura?

Next, is alcohol.

Jane’s heart does a little dance when her beer makes the cut and is placed in the basket next to the cheeses she can’t pronounce and the bottle of wine that Jane knows better than to look at the price tag for.

Her internal monologue continues as they make their way to the crackers.

Is being in love much of a stretch from where they are now? After all, she’s at the grocery store with Maura on their day off. And not even because her mother is planning a family dinner and they’re in charge of procurement. No, she’s here because Maura asked. She’s here because she’s rather be with Maura, even doing something as mundane as _this,_ than be anywhere else.

She’d always rather be with Maura.

Didn’t that mean something?

By the time they get to the checkout lane Jane feels she’s somehow worked through most of her feelings.

She had no idea how she didn’t realize this about herself until now. (And she calls herself a detective!) They are basically dating already. (She already has a “drawer” at Maura’s place, already has a “side” of the bed, her beer already has a home in the fridge.) The one thing they’re missing is the commitment and… _other_ stuff. ( _Other_ stuff sets her skin on fire, and suddenly the idea of sitting down next to Maura on the couch and sharing a simple, every day type of kiss or snuggling down next to her on Maura’s obscenely comfortable bed – is wholly appealing.)

They’re loading the trunk – Jane handing Maura bags while she meticulously places everything inside.

She is in jeans today and sneakers, wearing an old college sweatshirt. Her hair is down and her make-up so minimal that Jane has a strange desire to count the freckles that dust across her cheeks. This Maura – low-maintenance and gorgeous – is Jane’s favorite. She feels touchable somehow. More accessible.

When Maura turns to Jane the sun hits her eyes just right, and Jane is drowning in shimmering hazel.

It doesn’t matter that she’s only had this realization barely thirty minutes ago. Not really. Because this – _she_ and _Maura –_ it feels right. The most right.

Jane, always a woman of action, ignores the way she can’t voice the feelings swirling around inside of her and steps closer. She reaches a hand up, softly tracing the angle of Maura’s jaw. She grins as Maura settles a step closer, telling Jane that this play is not unwelcome.

Jane leans forward, tilting Maura’s chin upward and captures Maura’s lips in an incredibly soft, sweet kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I'm only capable of writing the same story ten different ways...one day I'll come up with something else to write about and then it will be a breath of fresh air! Until then, thanks for reading!!


End file.
